disTEMPO

Click, clack, three-four, waltz shfting to a sevenish rhythm, breaking into a major vacuum, lost in Bflat minor, drifting over keys, aimless, like tip-toes on water, cling-cling tinkling, tip-top-tip-top, drop...
The second movement is a flutter, shifting to another mood, pulling the beat past time, before time, never in time, challenging the nature of things, aligning itself to the void, breaking the parameters of sound, sleeping in silence, awoken in the freshness of that warmsound, the sound of the new day. Apparently, the sun is up.
The leviathan of the outro, the enormity of the progression crushing like the hardwaves on rocks, forming clusters, plaza's and coves, the progression denotes a dip in the psychograph, a trough after a peak, a low after a high, lost in that last joint made with the night's unfriendly hands...
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